Okay, so yesterday I had a meeting at the local country club. Pool shit. Blah, blah, blah. 'Tis the season. Because there were old people eating in the main dining room and because I am prone to blurting out inappropriate comments, we were relegated to the basement. And because my inappropriate comments frequently involve expletives, we were not only relegated to the basement but to the ladies locker room. Nobody goes in the ladies locker room. Ever. Nevertheless, because the pool manager/building superintendent is a man (go figure), it was necessary for him to yell out, "maintenance" just in case there was some old bag taking a secret crap down there or something. If she was, she didn't come out and I'm guessing she got an earful. Anyway, this jogged a memory completely unrelated to either my country club OR old people and their bowel movements. When I was living in the sorority house (word up to the sistas of Sigma Kappa, AT Chapter!!!!!), if we were bringing a boy on to the upper floors where our bedrooms were, the standard protocol was to shout out, "MAN ON THE FLOOR!!!!!!". This was simply code word for "time to come out of your room in your bra and panties and feign surprise". You see, youngsters, we did not have thongs in 1989. "Panties" are things that actually cover your entire ass and do not cause uncomfortable chafing, itching OR burning. The last two may be unrelated to the thong itself but I digress. Back to the man on the floor. I believe I was in between boyfriends and actually had a "date". A member of the Michigan State Spartans football team was actually a big enough dork to PASS ME A NOTE at a local watering hole. This note explained that he was secretly in love with me and that he would like to take me out. Errrr......a note? Seriously? But they had been to the Rose Bowl that year and I was marginally impressed. So I went out with him. I shouldn't have. He was about as smart as he looked. For whatever reason, as I was in the process of trying to shake him, it became necessary to return to my sorority house. This guy follows me upstairs and because he was gigantic, did not go unnoticed. At some juncture, he attempted to kiss me which if memory serves, involved sticking his tongue in my mouth and leaving it there. Like a stunned trout. That was about enough for me and I somehow managed to get him the hell out of there. But, like I said, he did not go unnoticed and it was "after hours". I got hauled in front of the "standards board". Which was but the first in a lifetime of being hauled in front of panels of one sort or the other for something involving behavior unbefitting a proper young lady. Or middle-aged lady as the case may be. I'm sure I'll get hauled in front of some judgy panel in the old folks home if I live that long. Somebody's teeth will probably fall out of my bra during the early bird special or something. But again, I digress. In this case, I DIDN'T EVEN DO ANYTHING!!!!!!! Or at least anything fun. Granted, he shouldn't have been up there. I'll cop to that, even if it was a really fucking stupid rule that some nunnery-bound prude with a stick up her ass came up with in 1952. But my theory has long been that if I'm going to get in trouble for it, it had damn well better be well worth the trouble. My extensive research has proved that it usually is. In this case all I got was a tongue shoved down my throat against my will. Damn it. You can't win 'em all.